#and that we can now add a decade to all of those year counts and nothing has changed

[mankillercalledbunny]

Apologise

E. Abel, 2014

The year is 1955.

A fourteen-year-old boy

Named Emmett Till

Winks at a white woman in Missouri.

Days later

His body washes up

Soaked

Barely recognizable.

When it's finally identified

With its beaten black face

Smashed to the point

Where it's hard to think this kid

Ever had a name

It's sent to his mother

Who chooses

Not to cover his face at the funeral

To leave the coffin open

So all can see

The bruised and rotted flesh

Swollen discolored and bloody

With one eye dangling from its socket.

Thousands of people cry.

The pictures hit the news.

Emmett Till and his mother Mamie

Are names known across the country

And the men who killed him

Are found not guilty.

-

The year is 1964.

A young man

Named James Earl Chaney

Is working with the Congress of Racial Equality

As a civil rights worker in Mississippi.

He advocates voter registration

Trying to get black people

The representation they deserve.

The KKK has burned a church for blacks.

Chaney is investigating.

His bus is stopped

By a group of men

In pointed white hats and masks.

For weeks people search

Until his body is found,

But only because he went missing

With two white men.

The dozens of other blacks who have gone missing

In the same way

In the same town

Are never searched for

And the Klan members don't go to prison.

It takes 40 years

Before the man who organized his killing

Is sentenced

For manslaughter.

Four years later

A great leader is shot.

-

The year is 2012.

A boy of seventeen

Named Trayvon Martin

Is walking around Sanford Florida

Wearing a hoodie

Getting candy and juice

At a convenience store.

A neighborhood watch volunteer

Sees him slouching

His hood up over his head.

A gun is drawn and fired.

Trayvon keels over.

His pictures are released to the press

Who debate the issue more heatedly

Than the presidential race.

Rallies and protests ensue,

Millions sign a petition for the volunteer's imprisonment

But Florida says "Stand Your Ground"

And Zimmerman walks free.

-

The day is August 9th, 2014.

In Ferguson, Missouri

An eighteen-year-old

Named Michael Brown

Is walking down the street with his friend.

A police officer pulls up and yells for them to get on the sidewalk;

The two keep walking.

The officer pulls up next to them

Yelling again.

Suddenly a shot is fired from inside the car.

It grazes the teen's side

He and his friend take off running

The cop chases.

The friend hides behind a car

Fearing for his life.

A second shot hits the already wounded boy

The teen turns to his attacker instead.

Michael gets down on his knees

An innocent

Surrendering without a fight

In the hope that his enemy will have mercy

"Hands up

Don't shoot"

He cries.

BANG

To the head

BANG BANG BANG

Bullets hit the insides of his arms

His chest

The body lays in the street for hours

Police pick it up later in a van

The witnesses all say the same thing.

-

That night the protests start

Saying the same thing Michael said

"Hands up

Don't shoot"

"No justice

No peace"

Not a gun is drawn by the protestors

No threats are made.

The next night

Tear gas is thrown

As a crowd control tactic

By police.

Within a week

Armored vehicles and assault rifles

Have been dealt to the suburban unit

The people still protest in peace

Suffering burning eyes

And rubber bullet wounds

For justice

And Darren Wilson gets away with murder.

-

It has been sixty years

Since the death of Emmett Till

Fifty years since the deaths of J. E. Chaney and Martin Luther King. Jr

Two years since Trayvon Martin

And still one must wonder

What America truly thinks

When it says

All its people are born equal

If the life of a black teenager

Is worth less than the box of cigars he supposedly stole,

When those who are supposed to protect us

Can murder innocents

And walk away unscathed.

We may be the home of the brave

But the United States

Is still not

The land of the free

For anyone whose skin

Is darker than the sand on the beach,

We cannot say we stand for justice

Until all murderers sit behind bars

Instead of in front of their televisions

In the guise of a police officer.

America is crippled

Until it can stand united and say,

To the dark children

Whose parents have been fighting the same fight

For the last four hundred years

And have yet to gain their equality,

Until it can say to them

"I'm sorry."

‘Race and racism is a reality that so many of us grow up learning to just deal with. But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of color to deal with it. It’s up to all of us – Black, white, everyone – no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out. It starts with self-examination and listening to those whose lives are different from our own. It ends with justice, compassion, and empathy that manifests in our lives and on our streets.’ — Michelle Obama

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know�� it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers. 

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening. 

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled. 

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

[kopykunoichi]

The Righteousness of Saiyans

(according to two Namekians)

Can we talk about this dialogue? So, after watching both the Super episodes and the Battle of Gods movie, I have to say that I much prefer the movie version. The pacing is better, the dialogue is better, and this little bit about how "righteousness" is defined is really interesting to me.

Each character seems to have different standards for what constitutes righteousness. Piccolo, apparently, has the highest standards. Whether this is a result of the influence that Kami has had on him, or just his perspective as a character who is fully aware that he was once evil, it's really telling about his character. It does fit with his personality type that he'd be overly critical of the others.

In the DBS episodes, he only points out that Vegeta is not righteous based on his past actions. That dialogue always struck me as out of character, since Piccolo himself has a history of being evil and the two of them have a parallel redemption arc. Piccolo fully understands that Vegeta is no longer an evil person, and he was the first to acknowledge that while he mourned him after his sacrifice in the Buu arc. But that doesn't mean that Piccolo thinks Vegeta is righteous either; he told the prince plainly that he was going to hell for his past deeds.

In the movie, Piccolo doesn't think that Vegeta, Trunks, or Goku meet the bar for righteousness. In their exchange, Bulma doesn't even contend that Vegeta is worthy of the term, but she does defend Trunks. Their discussion after that is both hilarious and also rather interesting, given who's talking.

Piccolo, looking a bit smug, argues that "Any boy that young who already has a serious girlfriend does not have a righteous heart."

Now, despite his small size, Trunks is 12 years old at this point. He might not have hit puberty thanks to his Saiyan genes, but by human standards, that's about the age when it's not unusual for boys to be thinking of girls. It seems that Piccolo is implying that Trunks is already having carnal thoughts about females, kicking him out of the righteous running. But this is coming from someone who is not supposed to even be capable of having carnal thoughts, so why would he judge the boy on that?

Bulma replies, "Oh shut up, you mean old prude. I bet you're kind of jealous of him."

Now this is very interesting to me. Bulma is pretty much the smartest person in the group and she is fully aware of his Namekian biology. Piccolo is a warrior type, so he lacks the ability to procreate on his own since he can't produce eggs. Bulma accusing him of being jealous that Trunks has a girlfriend at 12 years old suggests that she thinks he's not only capable of those feelings, but might also covet a companion for himself. Despite Bulma calling him an "old prude", Piccolo is only 25 (26 if you count the time in the HTC), so he's two decades younger than her. Piccolo's expression shifts from self-assured to a scowl, and he adjusts his posture to give her a sidelong glare, but he doesn't argue with her or point out how ridiculous that statement is. Could it be that she was not entirely off the mark? Piccolo does put thought into human romantic relationships. He doesn't always get the dynamics, but he tries to understand...which makes me wonder if he could be open to it for himself. Bulma seems to think so.

Chi-Chi, of all people, agrees with Bulma's comment, "Yeah, Piccolo." Then adds, "and are you suggesting that Goku's impure too?"

Piccolo winces at this while Goku facepalms, but Piccolo is saved from having to point out how his friend falls short thanks to Roshi harping on the fact that Goku is an idiot. Now, I am quite certain that Piccolo doesn't think Goku lacks pure-heartedness due to his lack of two braincells to rub together...but rather the fact that Goku is inherently self-centered. Goku isn't the worst parent, but he's definitely not the most attentive of husbands or fathers, either. Piccolo has spent years standing in the gap, mentoring and looking after Goku's kids and even helping out Chi-Chi when she needs it while Goku was dead, training, or simply not around to help. Piccolo loves Goku and he knows he's a good man, but he also has a pretty fair handle on his friend's faults, too. Goku's boys are the only Saiyans in the group of five that Piccolo actually considers pure-hearted.

Then Dende comes in to smooth everything over. It seems the young guardian has less strict standards than his Namekian friend as to what constitutes righteousness. He points out that righteousness doesn't mean perfection. All of them have risked their lives to save earth. He even adds that Vegeta may have been evil years ago, but he's changed since then. Seeing as how Vegeta killed an entire village of his brothers and Dende once refused to heal him because of it, this shows remarkable forgiveness on Dende's part.

It seems that, to Dende, as long as your *current* actions show that you're willing to risk your life for others, that's enough for him. He doesn't weigh the balance of good deeds vs. bad deeds. It's about where your heart is right now, and what you did in your past - no matter how bad - doesn't negate what your current choices are. To him, redemption means your past sins are forgiven and forgotten.

Everyone jumps on board with cheering for Vegeta's reformation, except Piccolo. Now, that may have also come from a place a jealousy. After all, Piccolo reformed himself first and has come a LOT farther than Vegeta in terms of being gentle, good-hearted, and selfless toward others. Where are his cheerleaders?

But I think that Piccolo's judgment of others is harsher because he has a harder time forgiving and forgetting than Dende does. I believe his attitude isn't just because he's critical of others, but also because there are parts of himself that he can't entirely let go of. Piccolo has put in more work than any other character to reform himself. His personality has remained the same, but he has a lot of outside influence with Nail and Kami. But the old King's memories are in there too, and I think he's very aware of the man he was. He's squared with it, but he'll never forget.

He constantly strives to be the opposite of what he was. He loves and protects his found family, he lays his life down for them repeatedly, and he invests the bulk of his time training, mentoring, babysitting, and even eating with them. He sees his own shortcomings, and the shortcomings of those around him, but he continually tries to do better. Even with all that effort, I'm not convinced he even considers himself worthy of the term righteous.

[agentnico]

The Count of Monte-Cristo (2024) review

Je suis Batman!!

Plot: Edmond Dantes becomes the target of a sinister plot and is arrested on his wedding day for a crime he did not commit. After 14 years in the island prison of Château d'If, he manages a daring escape. Now rich beyond his dreams, he assumes the identity of the Count of Monte-Cristo and exacts his revenge on the three men who betrayed him.

I’ve been really enjoying this recent wave of French blockbuster cinema creating these lavish big-budget adaptions of their nation’s classic literature, with the recent highly enjoyable duology romp of The Three Musketeers (D’Artagnan and Milady respectively) and now taking on The Count of Monte-Cristo. I was a major admirer of Alexander Dumas’ novels when I was a kid, and by admirer I mean my father used to force me to read those books which at the time I hated him for, as I much rather would have spent hours on end on my GameCube, but now am forever grateful that I have the knowledge of storytelling which I gained from reading those pieces of literature. So I’m eagerly hoping that now with these expensive modern movie takes we will also get some of Dumas’ other great works get the contemporary cinematic treatment, such as La Dame de Monsoreau and The Black Tulip (though the latter may be difficult as there is already an older film version starring Alain Delon, and would be hard to recast Delon, let’s not kid ourselves!). As for Monte-Cristo, I’m not even going to sugar-coat it - this is a fantastic modern adaptation of a classic!

The sets are great and really invoke the post-Napoleon era of France; the costumes are gorgeous; the music score is grandiose and epic, really engrossing you in this decade spanning saga of revenge; the classic story is reinterpreted so well with the themes and the emotion, and the acting across the board is superb. Oh and the cinematography is to die for - wonderful long shot landscape sequences, great use of lighting, gorgeous shots of interior palaces - you can tell this film has been given all the money in the world, only unlike Amazon’s Rings of Power TV series that looks expensive but lacks any narrative depth, this film is both great to look at but also has a great story with awesome performance. Look, I really really liked this movie, let me rave about it!! Of course if you’re not French, you have to deal with subtitles, however don’t let that sway you, as this move manages to tell so much using its visuals and powerful music score that at times you don’t even need to read the subtitles to understand the emotion the characters on screen are going through.

Pierre Niney is honestly superb as the titular Count. From how he showcases him in his younger years as the excited young sailor wanting to prove himself to years later being this highly intelligent and driven yet calm presence, as well as taking on the various alter-ego’s of the Count using his different masks (very reminiscent of Fantomas) such as the dastardly Lord Halifax - Niney does such a stellar job here. What I also loved is how this adaptation takes the “superhero origin” approach to Dumas’ classic, with the Count being showcased as this cool dark vigilante like Batman/Bruce Wayne or Zorro, and even his dark menacing suit (which is dapper as f*** by the way!!) emphasising that. All the props to Niney, he adds so many layers and nuance to his performance, that even when he is super reserved as the Count, you can tell in his eyes the disdain and pure hatred he has for the ones that wronged him, but at the same time being able to showcase his guard dropping slightly when he is in the presence of his beloved lost love Mercédès (played gracefully by Anaïs Demoustier).

As for negatives, as even though I absolutely adored this movie, the inner critic within me still can’t help himself. This is a 3-hour long movie, and granted that is a result of the weight of the original book, however you do feel the length of this thing, but at the same time certain parts feel a tad rushed (due to the writers attempting to cram so much story and character development into the 3-hour frame) that certain side-plots and narrative build ups aren’t given their proper space to breath. One does wonder if this would have worked better as a mini-series, however on the other hand they probably would not have had the budget to make this thing look as good as it does. Secondly, certain details/plot-holes frustrated me which I won’t spoil, but one example is when Edmond and Abbé Faria are digging the escape hole from their prison chambers all those years, where the hell did they keep getting all those candles from to light their workspace?? I highly doubt in mid-1800s France prisons had little kiosk shops to offer inmates various groceries and household items. Happy to be corrected here, but honestly seeing those candles reminded me of Deadpool proclaiming “that’s just lazy writing”. And final complaint (before we can get back to raving about how awesome this movie is) is the ageing, or lack of it more. The tale of Monte-Cristo spans from 1815 and ends in 1844, yet the movie makes zero effort in making the actors look older the further down the timeline we go. The Count does look aged but that is due to the mask he wears, so when that’s off he looks like his younger 20-something self again. One of the main baddies Prosecutor de Villefort (played in true dick-fashion by Laurent Lafitte) looks exactly the same at the beginning of the movie and then right to the end. You’re telling me the make-up artists and hairstylists couldn’t give him a single grey hair or a wrinkle?

Again though, that was me with my critical thinking hat on. With that off, I want to reiterate how I truly enjoyed this new version of a classic tale that has been done so many times before, however this one may be one of my favourites. Truly engaging and epic in scale, with a ridiculously cool Pierre Niney in the titular role. He is… the French Batman!

Overall score: 8/10

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: 2.6k

Reposting from last December as edits have been made, prior to finally completing this fic ☃️🩵🎄

moodboard by the very generous @strangedreamings 💙🩵💜

Chapter One

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen," she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

"Alright, " she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow. "

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That was my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter.

Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet beautiful truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too much."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed away, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once my mother came back, she never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of her closest friend and family member."

Stephen's first thought was of his own mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/promt fills as part of their ongoing series The Wizard and the Artist.

[not-quite-there-myself]

Just Like I Promised

A/N: I had to get myself to finish F13 just to do your request, haha (0/10 I cried). I originally wrote this in a headcanon format but I ended up with a fic instead, and mentions of the other sorcerers show up in this too... I hope you don't mind too much. Gah, this whole thing ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but I'm not complaining! Your username is so cute by the way! Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy.

The years after your departure from Bound Arlyn have been long and felt somehow less brighter when you were away. The six sorcerers you've gotten to know while you were there seemed to think so. Pollux especially felt different. He was used to being alone sometimes and didn't mind bothering people to play with him, but it was much easier when you were around. Now that you were gone, he had trouble getting used to the way things were without you.

He might not have realized how lonely he felt despite the other sorcerers being available to talk to. Arcturus and Spica were always busy with something but still talked to him just as usual. Alpheratz seemed to sleep more without anyone to bother him (he still couldn't be rid of Spica's pestering to move every so often though). Sirius, well… Sights of him were few and far between, but he still popped into Pollux's view when he felt that they were apart too long—can't leave his fellow Queen Tet sorcerer alone, can he?

Then, after more than a decade, he felt a strange pull in his chest one day. An aura too familiar to him tugged like heartstrings. He was just finishing up a mission when he felt like he was being watched somehow. Time stood still for a brief moment, his vision blurred at the blink of an eye.

Then he saw you.

"Summoner...?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Then he saw you and his emotions got the better of him.

"Summoner!"

He barely processed being teleported back to where you departed all those years ago. Then he saw you and he couldn't help his legs that began to rush towards your direction.

"It's really you!"

At the sight of you he almost couldn't believe it, but the tug and the familiar feeling of magic and the feeling of your arms suddenly wrapping around him was undeniable. He practically threw himself at you. He could feel your hug, and you could feel him hug back. He almost bursts into tears when he hears your voice.

"I missed you so much."

His voice catches in his throat, but he manages to let out a reply.

"I missed you too, Summoner."

It's been twelve years since you were sent back to Mid Eartheim, but it felt more like a century. He missed you more than words can describe, not that it mattered all that much. You were finally back and that's all that really counts.

"So," you say after letting go of Pollux. "How were you these last couple of years?"

"Bored without you around!" He replies, earning a laugh from you. "So were the others, just so you know. They all really missed you a lot... Ah, but don't tell them I said that-"

"Don't tell Summoner you said what?"

Both of you jolt at the voice; Spica's voice, one you know well. You turn your attention to Spica, who'd been standing there for a little longer than you thought. But it wasn't just him. Alpheratz, Arcturus, Sirius, and Vega stands with him too. From the looks of everyone's faces, it seems like no one was expecting to end up where they were, especially with you present.

Pollux yells, "Gah! How did you all-?!"

"Quiet down, kid." Alpheratz interrupts, "It looks like we all got teleported here when Summoner showed up."

"I don't think any of us would've expected this transition... Or expected to see you," Vega adds.

Arcturus nods happily. "Hehe, yeah! It really surprised me when I was here with everyone all of a sudden."

"I guess it's not just Pollux who's sensitive to Summoner's magic," Sirius jokes—though he couldn't be less farther from the truth.

You stand there, almost as stunned as Pollux after Spica's—and everyone else's—appearance. He almost covers his face in embarrassment, yelling, "You guys-! You should've said something when you all got here!"

After your reunion with everyone, it was as if nothing changed. At least, it certainly felt that way. Everyone else seemed happier to see you, at least, according to what Pollux tells you. None of them would admit to how deeply your departure affected them. You didn't need words to know how they felt. But it was safe to say that you were just happy to be in Bound Arlyn again.

"Summoner, you have to try this one! It's one of their best things on the menu!"

When the dust settled down, Pollux brought you to a new restaurant you haven't seen before. It's not exactly new anymore as it's been around for more than a decade, but it was still new to you, so it counted as far as Pollux was concerned.

You enjoyed the flavour of the dessert Pollux recommended you try. It wasn't too sweet, and it was soft and light and went well with tea or coffee. You expressed your positive opinion about it with a mouth full of the dessert. He only beamed at your reaction.

"Of course it is! I told you so."

You chuckle, finishing the rest of your food. "Thanks for bringing me here, Pollux. This is a great place to hang out."

As the two of you head out to leave, there's a small hint of an emotion you can't discern from Pollux's face. The sorcerer seemed almost sad for a moment before shrugging at the thought of feeling that way.

"Pollux? Is something the matter?"

The sorcerer shakes his head. "No, it's just... I promised to bring you here when you came back."

Something like a flashback came to you then, a faint memory of Pollux saying something like that way back when.

He smiled and added, "I'm glad I was able to keep that promise."

You smile back at him and say, "I'm glad too."

[fredseibertdotcom]

Yes, there’s something about a book.

The Art of MTV - The MTV: Music Television Logo August 1, 1981-February 8, 2010 by Fred Seibert

I've often posted here about the MTV logo, and people keep asking me about it, even all these decades later. At least, people ask about the OG logo that lasted until 2010. It’s true that you can see hundreds of example on the internet, but... there’s just something about a book. 

Here's the introduction I wrote for this book of many of my favorite M’s, I think it's adds some (more!) color to the story. 

...

The ‘M’ was the star

In a world about to explode with TV channels and noise, it had to be.

By Fred Seibert 

My job at MTV: Music Television was to make the ‘M’ the star. The question is, why?

My boss didn’t tell me to do it. My actual job title was Vice President, Program Services. Essentially, I was the original Creative Director and a co-founder. My tasks seemed straightforward: get a logo made, establish the verbal and written vocabulary, and make on-air promotional spots. 

Check. Check. Check.

So why did I reject nearly 500 preliminary logo sketches from Manhattan Design? Why did I pick the one you all remember? Why was it so damn important?

Let’s rewind. In 1981, the year we launched, the average American home had just two television channels. Really. In major markets like Los 

Angeles or New York, you might get seven primary VHS channels: three national networks and four independents. Most people ignored UHF. In some rural areas or densely packed cities, they had one channel, with reception that was snowy at best. On average, two channels.

But with satellite-distributed cable TV coming fast, the prediction was there would be 100 channels by 1984. One hundred!? Unthinkable. (No one could imagine the 50 million+ YouTube channels we have today.)

In that coming flood of video programming  MTV: Music Television wouldn’t even get sampled unless we stood out.

I felt we needed a dominant visual signpost to guide viewers to us. The musicians were important, but they’d come and go. Duran Duran and Pat Benatar might be huge now, but they’d be replaced by Michael Jackson, Nirvana, or the Backstreet Boys.

MTV had to be the constant. The channel itself had to outlast the artists.

To me, it was like the transformation in the ’60s when album covers went from utilitarian to statement pieces. Music alone wasn’t enough—the design, photography, and illustration had to stop you in your tracks. Bob Pittman, my boss, put it perfectly:

“Fred, people don’t buy music. They buy packages.”

The Beatles may have lit the match, but the fire spread fast, and I wanted MTV to burn just as brightly.

What to do?

After hundreds of failed attempts, Manhattan Design walked in with that now-iconic giant ‘M’ with a graffiti-inspired ‘TV’ scrawled over it.

Yes! 

My promo mentor Dale Pon had a mantra: “Designs need to dominate the space.”

The ‘M’ did just that—it filled every inch of those old 4x3 TV screens like it owned the room.

From there, my creative partner Alan Goodman and I reached out to young, independent animators around the world. They’d grown up not just with rock’n’roll, but with the album art that gave the music its emotional packaging. We gave them a simple rule: Make sure the ‘M’ is center of attention.

They delivered. Did they ever.

MTV: Music Television bombarded the world with A Flock of Seagulls, The Human League, Michael Jackson, Joan Jett, David Bowie, Snoop Doggy Dogg, Aerosmith, Radiohead, Counting Crows, Sheryl Crow, NSYNC, Britney Spears, Eminem, Linkin Park, Blink-182, Mandy Moore...

Many of those artists are now forgotten, dismissed, or listened to only through the fog of nostalgia. And once MTV dropped “Music Television” for "Jersey Shore," "Ridiculousness," and a gutted version of the logo, something got lost. Visit the MTV Store today—the only T-shirts that sell carry the classic logos designed by Pat Gorman, Frank Olinsky, and Patti Rogoff of Manhattan Design.

The artists came and went.

But MTV: Music Television? 

MTV hit the world with more glorious M’s than you could shake a stick at.

[yanderes-galore]

Hello hello! Sorry this took a while but I'm finally finished! I wasn't sure about how much you knew about the game or if its just been awhile and maybe you've forgotten some stuff so I tried to include any info that might be important or that might add some context. Plus some in game dialogue that's written in blue and terminal entries are in orange. I also included some of his backstory as well. I hope this helps! :))

• He's wanted by the Halcyon Holdings Board and has been hiding way in his lab for the last 35 years to avoid being arrested and/or executed.

• He's determined to save the thousands of colonists remaining trapped on the Hope in their hibernation chambers and to save the colony from the Boards wrongdoings.

• (The Hope is a ship containing thousands of people who were supposed to make it to Halcyon but ended up arriving decades later due to a malfunction in the ship. The Board decided to hide the ships discovery to avoid backlash from the people. Phineas was a scientist working for the Board at this point and grew frustrated that nothing was being done to help those trapped. He tried to find a way to help the people by attempting to revive them behind the Boards back, eventually being caught and classed as a murderer and criminal)

• Later on in one of his entries he states that he is indeed a murderer and that he's regretful of his actions. He also believes that only the Hope's colonists can forgive him.

• "They say I'm a murderer - and they're right. I am. I regret what I've done. But I'm not about to turn myself in to the Board. I'm not going to go begging the Board's forgiveness." "Only the Hope's colonists can forgive me for what I've done. They're the only people who can set things right. And I'm going to find a way to revive them, no matter how long I have to stay in hiding."

• In a way he might even be considered to have a bit of a saviour complex.

• Most likely would've found the reader at the start of the game when he randomly selects a colonist from a hibernation chamber who becomes the MC.

• Seems relieved (maybe a bit happy as well?) when getting a new potential ally, especially since the few people that he has spoken to recently have all died due to explosive cell death. "Looks to be your lucky day, my friend."

• Due to having a bounty on his head, he doesn't have many people he can trust and rely on, the few he trusts are those living on the Groundbreaker.

• (The Groundbreaker is an orbital station and is the only place in the game that isn't under the control of the Halcyon Holdings Board)

• He convinces the MC to help with getting more chemical supplies to save the other colonists. (If he became yandere at this point he'd probably use this as a tool to keep the MC helping him by potentially guilt tripping them (sorry I'm just rambling here lol)) "Unfortunately, I used the last of my chemical supplies saving you. I know it's a lot to ask, but I must have your help securing more if we're to save the rest of your fellow colonists." "Good luck. I'm... all the colonists are counting on you."

• Phineas sounds more annoyed that Hawthorne was crushed under the pod than shocked or surprised. Not really seeming to care all that much, immediately dismissing it as a minor inconvenience and telling the MC to go and steal his ship.

• "Hawthorne won't mind you taking his ship. Better you than the Board, eh?"

• (Now that I think about it he's probably just desensitised to death at this point and assumes the MC is too (they probably are as well to be fair))

• Absolutely hates the Board and everything they stand for. "I need those chemicals to revive the Hope's colonists. They can help us fight back against the Board. They can help us set things right. If we don't put a stop to the Board, they're going to drive this colony toward a complete societal collapse." "The Board, all their lackeys - they're all a bunch of SWINE! Do you hear me? They're fucking corporate SWINE!"

• Phineas definitely has PTSD from his past failed attempts at reviving the colonists as written in his entries. "Can still hear the screaming. Trouble sleeping. Trouble concentrating. Psychological toll... significant. On to subject number thirteen."

(In my opinion I could definitely see him being more of a subtle/manipulative yandere. Like maybe he'd try to convince the MC that the only person they can trust is him. Honestly I'm actually really excited for his concept now haha. Funny cuz I didn't even know this game existed until like 3 days ago lol-)

🐋~ anon

Posting this to look at when I'm more awake. (Accidentally set an alarm when I didn't need one and now I'm half sentient)

YOUR HELP IS GREATLY APPRECIATED, THANK YOU FOR WORKING SO HARD FOR ME, YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO! 🥺💜💜💜

[blubushie]

Warning for trauma shit. This is pure vent and contains (a lot of) mention of CSA.

Fucking hate getting a Google Drive folder from an investigator and he goes "hey can you ID if any of these are you so we can add them to the charges, each one is gonna be an additional count for possession" and I have to meticulously analyse an out-of-focus wall to see if I recognise the fucking wallpaper.

He sent me 19 images. 12 were titled "[trigger-word]boy[number]". All of those twelve were me as a preteen--with me cropped out of course, but I know those walls. There were two more I couldn't ID as me or not because the shade of wall was right but the image was so out-of-focus I couldn't tell if that was actually the wallpaper of the caravan I grew up in or not.

Y'know how fucking disturbing it is to find out someone you've never met before has a fucking picture of you that you can't remember ever being taken, but you know those eyes, and you know those buck teeth, and you know that jaw, and that scar over your eye you can barely see if the light catches it just right, and you know that's you? And not just that, but there's a total of 26 pieces of media of you as a kid that he had in his possession, 5 of which are explicit and one of those five is the full 2-hour and 27-minute video of the torture you endured at twelve fucking years old that still haunts you when you try to sleep at night.

These are pieces of my life--ten years old and smiling, eleven and laughing, my twelfth birthday and the cake Mum made, the day my parents brought me to the Kangaroo Sanctuary in Alice Springs, two of me playing baseball, one up at bat and the other mid-pitch, the first time I ever sat on a horse, I'm nine years old and missing my two right front teeth because I tripped into the sink when I got up late one night to piss and took them both out at the same time. Little snippets of my life and growing up through the years that're tainted because I know this man who I've never met knows far more about my life than I know about his.

64 counts for possession. 26 of which are me. Jesus fucking Christ.

Just when I think it's behind me, somehow it comes back to rear its ugly head. Like my past is haunting me with the knowledge I'll never be rid of it. We're always gonna find one more, and we'll chuck the book at him but then we'll find out he sent it to a dozen different other bastards we can't identify, and tracing it is hopeless. It's out there. It'll always be out there. There's no escaping it. There's no outrunning your past when it runs at 100mbps.

I'm going to walk into that courtroom, and he'll recognise me--same eyes, same split chin, grown into my teeth but the scars are still there--and I won't know him from Adam. He'll know what I look like stripped down to skin--not how I look now, but how I looked a decade ago, yeah.

He'll recognise me. I hope he never forgets my face. Hope he sees it when he rots in a fucking gaol cell for however long they put him away for. I hope it haunts his memory at night the way it's haunted mine all these years.

[subzeroparade]

Doing the Writing Review 2023 open tag left by @tinygigas, because taking stock of the things you’ve accomplished is supposedly good for your mental health, or so I’ve heard.

(this tag is open so tag yourself and talk about your writing •ᴗ• unless this post has made you go "I should be writing" in which case, go write).

Words and fics  ➻ 151,905 words of exclusively Bloodborne work because I decided to give myself wholly and unconditionally to an almost decade-old fandom (as opposed to last year, exclusively Elden Ring) posted on AO3  ➻ 10 fics posted on AO3  ➻2 WIPs, one of which should be done by the end of the year. 

Ships ➻ Mostly Ludwig/Laurence, though I think in regards to the “Moon Divorce people come get your juice” tag, I too now count as Moon Divorce people. Also Caryll/Rom, rarepair of my heart. 

Top Fic by Kudos ➻ Litanies (73)

Top Fic by Hits ➻ The Feast We Were Promised (1,189)

Fandom Events  I organised/ran a little writing workshop for some friends & acquaintances that I think (and hope) went rather well. Everyone’s work was delightful and they took feedback with more grace and enthusiasm than many undergrads I’ve been paid to give these workshops to. 

Upcoming Projects ➻ The so-called Moon Deal fic - because I call it that - or at least Part 1 of it by the end of the year. ➻ Some short/experimental pieces if I can get around to it. Something to push me out of my comfort zone, in which I otherwise sit and refuse to budge. 

Writing Reflections  ➻ I am overjoyed to have had conversations here and elsewhere that have wrung entire fics out of me based on statements not even meant to be prompts - including, Laurence sits on Ludwig’s lap to shave him and Why does Gehrman dress like discount Dracula? ➻ The chance to do real, systematic studies of some of my favourite authors, and find new ones to add to my repertory. All writing is fundamentally derivative - so you might as well get intimate with the voices you love the most.  ➻ Under any and all flashy technical mastery and thoughtful research remains the primacy of storytelling. That’s the music. 

Thanks for reading, and especially to those who've taken the time to engage. It's WIP Wednesday, so a little snippet of upcoming work below the cut.

[ofsmokenandgold]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?:

53

2. What's your total AO3 word count?:

335,362

3. What fandoms do you write for?

For the longest time I only wrote for Star Trek AOS; with a fleeting dip into Sherlock. Then this year I started writing Star Trek Picard, and that led me down a rabbit hole to The Musketeers, so now I'm writing that too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I've Been Chasing Grace Sherlock:John/Greg

A Vibration of Delight Pike/McCoy (ST:AOS)

Winged Desires and Veiled Persuasions Pike/Boyce/McCoy (ST:AOS)

Though My Soul May Set in Darkness Pike/McCoy/Kirk (ST:AOS)

Of Hopes and Fears and Twilight Fantasies Pike/McCoy/Kirk (ST:AOS)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to. Occasionally I will miss one, especially if it's on an old story, but I will try to get to those eventually. Comments are life.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If This is Goodbye (ST:AOS)- a canon-compliant Pike/Boyce story set around Star Trek into Darkness, it makes people cry. Hell, it still makes me cry.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Done With Bonaparte (ST:AOS) The Pike/Boyce story that is an alternate ending to Into Darkness, defies canon and lets Chris live.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not so far and I've been doing this for decades.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Smut is pretty much my go to genre. My entire Weight of a Man Series is a glorious smut fest - with a lot of relationship-building. I am a little more into hurt/comfort right now, but there is a lot of smut built into the "comfort" part.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not, I generally can't write in more than one fandom at a time and now that I find myself equally obsessed with ST:Picard and The Musketeers I can't honestly figure out a way to do a crossover with them (I know, failure of imagination).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

My very first foray into fan fiction (long before the internet) was a round-robin story with three school friends that we kept going for five years (I still have the notebooks). It was based on The Quest - a very short lived US Western series with a gorgeous young Tim Matheson and equally cute Kurt Russell.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

If you look at my output it's clearly Pike/Boyce (ST:AOS). And they will always be my boys. But right now I'm all things Aramis and Aramis-in-space which has me shipping Rios/Shaw and Aramis/Athos and I think that will sustain my writing for quite a while.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really don't like to abandon stories and that's why until recently I never posted anything until it was finished. So anything I have started on AO3 will get finished eventually. However, I have stuff in my WIP folder that might never see the light of day, including an early-career Pike/Boyce that is mostly written.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Details, I do details really well, I like to feel immersed in a place or a situation and I do that by giving as many details as feel appropriate for the story. Sometimes that requires a lot of research, especially for Star Trek, but it all adds to the texture of the story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Adjectives - I use too many of them. I also have a tendency to have way too many run on sentences. Sometimes that's necessary for the pacing of the story, but I always consciously look for them when I'm editing so I can see if I can rework them to be more manageable.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've only really started doing this with Aramis/Rios and I still don't do much of it, just to make a point. The context usually provides clues to the meaning, and if not then I write the meaning into the text somewhere.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First - The Quest, and Blake's 7 - For public consumption, Star Trek AOS (first on Livejournal and then AO3)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Winged Desires and Veiled Persuasions (ST:AOS) Pike/Boyce/McCoy I wrote it in a gift-exchange for my fabulous beta, and it just came together and works in a way that stories rarely do. It's a perfect little threesome smut-fest with lots of feelings.

If you’re reading this and want to play, I hereby tag you with no pressure. 🥳

[rockinlibrarian]

Year End (okay, Beginning of Following Year) AO3 Wrapped/Fic Writing Summary Thing!

My Scrivener files are in limbo right now because I'm in the long process of transferring computers (longer because the new computer I got for Christmas turned out to have a faulty motherboard), so most of my end-of-the-year round-up drafts are having to wait. But it finally occurred to me that I CAN do some other roundups in the meantime!

Like my AO3 Wrapped For Writers!

I saw several such lists of questions this year so decided to consolidate them, and most (but not all) of the questions had been in the list I did last year anyway. But I also switched the order of questions so they flowed more logically! Without further ado...

1. How many words have you written this year? As I said, my Scrivener files are in limbo, but AO3 says I POSTED 65,857 words this year (meaning 2023. This Past Year). But this is not what I've WRITTEN, since that includes three chapters of "A Captain With Seven Children" and two of "Not Just Stupid Kids" I actually posted last year, not to mention the nearly 9,000 words of the "Pipeweed Mafia Epic" I wrote a decade ago but only POSTED in 2023. And on the other hand there's all the words I wrote and DIDN'T post, but again, can't get into Scrivener to tell you about those.

2. How many works did you publish this year? 8. Though two of those are just ones I added chapters to. And one's still anonymous, because it's too tangentially smutty to have blaring away on my main page (but you can read it here. Don't worry, it's not actually that smutty, it's just LINKED back to a smutty fic).

3. What’s your longest work of the year? "The Magic Man of Oz" at 15,004 words, which even beats out all FOUR chapters of "Captain With Seven Children" (14,754 words).

4. What’s your shortest work of the year? Posted on AO3, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 2,785 words, unless you count the rather short chapter I added to "Not Just Stupid Kids" that actually began life as a comment on someone else's fic. But I think my actual shortest fic is what I wrote for @sunnymarbles after we finished reading Maureen Johnson's Truly Devious series. I had not posted it on AO3 because I thought I had to fill it out more, but now I'm thinking it's complete as it is, so here, in its entirety of 61 words, is "But Where Is the Moose?" 

The moose of the Green Mountains knew to avoid the place they called the Unstable Slope, or “oooOOOOOOoooo” in their native tongue. Ninety generations had passed since the first BoomQuakes broke the mountain, and still young moose were warned away, despite tales of a mythical lake that appeared suddenly there for several years, only to just as suddenly dry up again.

Okay, I guess that doesn't really have a beginning, middle, and end yet. But what more does it really need? It's moose folklore.

5. What work was the quickest to write? That one, probably. Or that bonus chapter of "Not Just Stupid Kids," which was, after all, drafted in someone's comments section.

6. What work took you the longest to write? Considering I did add a LITTLE bit to "The Pipeweed Mafia Epic" before I posted it this year, and I started that on March 26, 2011, I'm going with that.

7. What work of yours got the most hits this year? It SAYS "Not Just Stupid Kids" with 958, but again with the most-of-that-is-from-2022. Entirely published in this year's is the two chapters of "Morning-After Meltdowns" at 509. But I really have to give the prize to "4th Place"'s "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" for earning all 332 hits in just the past week!

8. Top Fic by Kudos: "Not Just Stupid Kids" hit a nice round 100 after its year and a half existence; but with the same caveats as the last question, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" earned 87 kudos in just the past week, so can you really call that second place?

9. How many kudos in total did you get this year? Approximately 309. Counts old chapters and doesn't count old fics, so...

10. Which work has the most comments? "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" at 26 unique comment threads, which brings us  to:

11. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? See above. Yuletide readers are the BEST commenters!

12. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? "The Magic Man of Oz" is brilliant, dangit, even if I'm the only one who can appreciate it! Do you know the thought that goes into seamlessly merging two seemingly completely different stories? Not to mention all the meta format-bending involved in this particular work?

13. Favorite work you wrote this year? Hmm, yeah, probably that one. Though all those commenters telling me I'm funny have increased my own appreciation of how well "Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" turned out.

14. Which work of yours have you reread the most? Might be that last one, on the premise that I tend to reread my fics whenever I get a new notification about them. But really that IS just the past week. I honestly don't know.

15. Most written fandom this year: Umbrella Academy at 5 out of 8

16. Most written rating this year: Teen, mostly on account of swearing and drug references I think. A surprising amount of both, coming from me.

17. What’s your most common category written this year? Gen! Beautiful gen! I have not entirely forsaken you for Fiktor! (Which is confusing enough to categorize when you keep writing scenes that take place entirely when a trans man was presenting as a girl! It reads as F/M! Unless you happen to know that in the broader context it's really M/M! Stupid romantic relationships! Gen is so much more straightforward!)

18. Pairing you wrote the most for this year/most written relationships: yeah, even IF you factor in "&" relationships (which I usually forget to mark, except this last one because "Chidi&or/Jason" was specifically what my Yuletide person asked for), no pairing dominates like my Five/Viktor Hargreeves obsesson. If you're just joining me, no I don't know where that came from either.

19. What’s your most common/favorite “Additional Tags” tag? Overall it's still "backstory," but I don't think I actually used that one THIS year. But when you filter it to just the past year, the tags are all spread out, so there are a bunch of twice-used ones and a bunch more once-used. I think we need to shout out to twice-used "pseudo-incest" though because, HAH... But my FAVORITE of the Twice Used tags has to be "crack treated seriously," because that is something I truly do endorse.

20. Your favorite character to write this year? This year I can confidently say Oliver Bird, since he narrated my longest and most experimental (completed) work. But a close runner-up is Jason Mendoza, who is so gifted in the art of the non-sequiteur! (And I would have loved to have written more Janet, but what you got was the most I could squeeze her in).

21. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Strangely, Kerry Loudermilk. I still think she reads too young in "Magic Man of Oz," which is probably because I'm so used to writing her younger-than-canon, and the tone of the story did fit with that younger Kerry, but I'm still a little frustrated with it. I saw some Tumblr post a few months back that was like "People who are obsessed with writing a character either know the character in excruciating detail, or they're in love with a completely different headcanon character who's so far removed from the original, and if you think you're both, you're not, you're just the latter!" And I was looking at Lioness-Kerry like, no, I AM both, I swear I know who she really is, she's just coming OUT all headcanony!

22. Favorite title you used: Of whole works, "How to Catch Up with your Therapist after a Couple of...Busy Months." But last year I said my true favorite was probably chapter-in-progress title "High On a Roof Stood a Lonely Seven" and this year I actually POSTED that chapter so HEY.

23. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Which again brings us to Rogers and Hammerstein, but that was the ONLY lyric-inspired title posted this year. I did quote a variety of song lyrics WITHIN "The Magic Man of Oz" though, which brings us to...

24. What do you listen to while writing? Besides the Instrumental playlist, I did specifically listen to Dark Side of the Moon a lot while writing "The Magic Man of Oz"

25. Fandom fic events you participated in this year: Last year I would have had none, this year I did TWO! Umbrella Academy Masked Author in May, Yuletide in December!

26. Did you do any collaborative works this year? I would count "The Magic Man of Oz," because that was the product of a Discord server brainstorming session, and a lot of ideas came from other people. But no sitting down and writing a story together sorts of collaborations.

27. Did you write any gifts this year? Yes, "In Which Jason and Chidi Rob a Bank" was my Yuletide assignment, and I'm halfway done writing an additional belated Yuletide treat as well. I also Gifted "Magic Man of Oz" to the person who suggested the AU to begin with, but I'm not sure they ever actually read it.

28. Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes, my Yuletide gift was a very Snickety All the Wrong Questions bonus scene, "miscommunications" by carterhaugh

29. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Again, Scrivener's in limbo.

30. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Well, last year I PROMISED I'd be posting "Child of Hypnos" and the rest of "Tesseract," and I didn't, so this year I'll try again, and hopefully also add at least one chapter to "Captain with Seven Children"

31. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Rather than any specific pairing, I think I'll make more of an effort to mark "&" relationships. I recently was talking to a Loudermilk fan who'd never read my fics because they'd just clicked right to the Cary & Kerry tag! Whoops!

32. Favorite dialogue you wrote this year? “Nobody uses money in the Good Place! You just walk into Steak On a Stick and say, ‘Hey, I want some of that Steak on a Stick!’ and they say, ‘Here you go,’ or, if you’re thinking, you go, ‘Hey, Janet, can you bring me a grande basket of Stupid Nick’s Garlic Pepper-Spray Attack Wings,’ and she goes—”

“Fresh from the fryer!” Janet held out the basket of wings.

“Oh, dip, Stupid Nick’s! Thanks, Janet! How’d you know I wanted some?”

“You just asked me!”

“She’s so smart!”

[...and a few paragraphs later...]

“It’s like, this one time, me and Donkey Doug were gonna rob a bank for my birthday, right? We had all the tuna and stink bombs ready to go, but then a crew of rogue pirate reenactors from St. Augustine attacked Ponte Vedra so they had to close I95 for hippo infestation, and yeah, that was kind of a bummer for a ten-year-old kid, but in the end we got to go to Sea World, so—”

“You were te— actually, I’m not sure what part of that story I should question more.”

33. Favorite non-dialogue passage you wrote this year? A certain fight scene about 3/4 of the way through "Magic Man of Oz," which wouldn't work if I copied and pasted it here, so go read. Luckily, Oliver is full of delightful bits of narration (is it cheating to pick favorite "non-dialogue" passages from a work with a very strong narrative voice?) in the rest of that story, too, like

"Beneath the ice is a young boy, ostensibly, entirely in grayscale and with an overly large head— possibly papier mache. He looks very, very angry. Or perhaps, looked very, very angry, because he is also clearly very, very dead,"

"Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several days…no, seconds. No. Sydney and Matilda follow the road for several amounts of time,"

"And so, either because her understanding of scarecrows is such that standing unsupported is less surprising than talking, or simply because something inside her remembers how this story is supposed to go, Sydney sets Matilda on the ground and unties the straw man, whose long limbs slide and glide and ultimately straighten,"

"And, perhaps unwisely, as one never knows what might be powered by a mysterious plug in the woods, she pulls it,"

"They both lead to a man. A Ptin Man. The “P” is not silent, despite what your previous understanding of ancient languages might suggest,"

and "Frankly I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing now. A narrator requires something to narrate, and my characters are…just…lying there…like worms forced upward by a downpour."

And shout out to this bit, which is technically also not dialogue, but lyrics: “Ha ha here, ho ho there/

and you will quickly find/

we know exactly what you need/

it’s something for your mind!"

Which, iykyk.

34. Biggest surprise while writing this year? That I'd never actually written for any of the main Good Place characters before. It felt so natural! But I hadn't! I'd only written for Shawn and Bad Janet and Vicky in that Community crossover!

35. what you learned from writing this year: to pay better attention to Yuletide deadlines. From writing itself? Have fun trying new things! Strange formats ate fun!

[saanphoenix]

That was not where I thought this was going regarding micromanaging, because my retail experience is different.

The reason my experience is a little different is 1) my store is unionized and 2) I'm not a cashier/courtesy clerk and so no one gets to tell me when I can piss and go to break, I can just do those things when I feel like it.

But, back to micromanaging.

In a blatant show of distrust, the company I work for has, over the years, rolled out software programs within our handheld devices to make us record every little thing we do.

When once we wrote down what we needed to stock on a clipboard, it now goes into the handheld. Where once we kept an order guide on paper, it now goes into the handheld, where the computer system NOW also yells at us if it thinks we're ordering too much of something or not enough. Where once our mystery shops handled if we could answer a customer's question correctly, they now hinge on us providing a specific greeting as well as having 6 things both stocked and fresh at all times. Those 6 things are the fastest sellers in the dept. If we miss one thing, store management tells us we failed. We have to assign ourselves tasks in the handheld, or corporate yells at us because we didn't do anything "extra" that day. If we don't stock a certain number of products a day now, we get yelled at. We get yelled at because it affects the store manager's bonus. We don't get bonuses. We do inventory counts in the handheld daily now, not just during the period inventory counts, and if we don't get enough "free counts" in a week, we get yelled at. Because that affects the store manager's bonus.

In the past 3 years, corporate has come up with amazing ways to utilize these stupid handhelds to micromanage us. And we all know that's what they're doing. Each guardrail they install in these programs, each new daily task they add in there we have to check off, tells us that they think we are simpletons that need to be told how to do our jobs on a daily basis.

And whereas the OPs situation is more often found at retail stores that have been shitheels since inception and do pride themselves in being able to break their employees sense of worth, and self-worth, and self-esteem, and strip all joy from their eyes...my company is discovering that if you try that tactic decades into a lot of your employees careers, you WILL get pushback. Morale WILL fall substantially. Not in a depressed way, but in a homicidal rage way. There HAVE been employees that have shot up stores recently. Which sucks, people died that shouldn't have, but hoo boy. The cause is obvious.

The tactics that retail stores employ on their employees DO fuck them up. Either from the angle that OP went through, or from suddenly being disrespected and told you don't know how to think on your own, you don't know how to do the job you've always done, and Smile, the boss' bonus depends on it. Fuck you, though, you don't get shit.

retail micromanagement destroys peoples brains istg i can always tell when someone came from retail bcs they legit have learned helplessness wrt managing their own time at work. i mean i was the same way when i left retail its brutal but its fixable.

[mjpiercesblog]

Chapter 2 of ALL THE TROPES (WIP novel)

Chapter 2 of my WIP novel, ALL THE TROPES

2. Ken

Leo follows me to the restaurant, graceful in his movements. Graceful is really the word for him. When I entered the room, it was probably to the most beautiful sight ever. Him dancing in that tiny space. A wave of desire I rarely feel came over me. I mean, I can probably list the number of times I’ve felt this.

I never understood how people can ruin their lives over sex. I mean, sex is good, but… The meme has a point. Honestly, have you ever had a breakthrough in thinking about a problem that got you to connect the dots of your research clearly and from a number of perspectives? So much better. At any rate, my reaction to Leo Kenworthington was… unusual. I can count on one hand the number of people I have reacted to like this. And nothing ever happened with those guys. One of them was my best friend Kieran and I certainly never had a crush on him. Just a weak moment. Because while I have those moments of desire, that’s what they are: moments. A second of desire. Not enough to tempt me to cheat or give all my money away.

Kieran is pure chaos energy. I love him to bits, but he’s the kind of guy who will ruin his life to get laid. He was with his last boyfriend Joel for three years and constantly cheated on him. I’ll never understand letting his cock point his path like that. Joel was a nice enough bloke, maybe not particularly bright, but kind. And clever enough to kick Kieran to the curb when he found out. Well, at least the last time he found out, because that was the third time he did. I really don’t get it. I couldn’t do it to my fiancé Christian. Not for a fuck, which inevitably will not be that great. But I think Kieran and Leo would get on. They have a similar vibe.

All of this is to say that Leo is, no doubt about it, beautiful. He has curly, frizzy hair and a dancer’s physique. His hair is that shade between blonde and brown that qualifies as dirty blonde. His hair is up in a messy bun, and he’s wearing grey joggers and a zip-up-top in a pale green. A light scruff shades his chin. He’s smaller than me but muscular and solid. He seems kind, too. Especially in this awful situation we find ourselves in.

Leo and I go to the restaurant where a smiling hostess seats us. At this point, asking to eat alone would just be rude. I want to go over my presentation again, but Leo really helped me. And he is being so nice and relaxed about this whole mess, I can’t abandon him without making sure he gets every advantage the hotel will part with. So, we sit down, letting the hostess know to contact reception to make sure we eat for free. We order drinks, him sticking to diet coke and me ordering sparkling water, then study the menu. We remain silent until we order, then the server brings some bread and olive oil to dip. Leo digs in, taking a slice of the freshly baked, or at least warm, white bread. He takes a bite and moans.

“Oh my God, this is so good,” he groans. I look at him questioningly. I get that bread is good, but that good? Sex is great, but have you eaten bread in this mid-range chain hotel in Manchester? “Sorry,” he says. “I haven’t eaten bread in a decade.”

“What,” I burst out in disbelief.

“That was when I started at a boarding school for dancing. No carbs since.”

“And you’re getting back into carbs now?”

“I’ve decided to give up on dancing,” he says in a light tone. I know that dancing is hard work. His sculpted body is testament to it. And his diet. But why would he be giving it up?

“Why,” I ask simply. Then add, “look, I don’t know you. I want nothing from you, I have no idea what it takes to be a professional dancer, but you can talk to me.”

He sighs. He seems young. Maybe early 20s. I know that careers in dancing don’t last long, but he seems like he should just be starting. “Thank you, but for now, can we just talk about carbs?”

I laugh. “Carbs are definitely good.”

“I’ve been dying for a pizza. And bread. Potatoes. Chips,” he says in wonderment.

“Don’t forget sugar,” I point out.

“Oh my God, sugar!”

“Full fat coke,” I say, pointing to his drink.

“No way,” he says, ogling his glass suspiciously.

“I mean, personally I always feel like it tastes a bit alcoholic, but maybe I just have a part of my brain activated that screams rum & coke. And I don’t drink much,” I explain.

“I’ve had plenty of alcohol,” he assures me. “I just haven’t eaten carbs growing up. Vodka has no calories. And dancers are always given champagne.” Then he pauses. “I mean, most don’t drink it because, well, carbs. Plus, it’s not like #MeToo has passed dancing by completely.”

“What does that mean,” I ask.

“I mean that the majority of dancers are extremely ambitious young women who don’t eat properly and don’t know how the world outside dance school looks like,” he shrugs.

“Isn’t that also true about you,” I ask carefully.

He shrugs. “I guess.” Then the food arrives, and I’m just left frowning at him. The waiter puts down our plates, a burger with chips for him and a pasta dish for me. But as soon as the waiter leaves, he assures me, “nothing ever happened, and I don’t have the equipment for vodka-soaked tampons. Honestly, I’m fine.”

I let out a relieved breath. The waiter comes back to grate parmesan over my plate. When he pauses, I ask for more and he grates it. On my signal, he stops and leaves.

“How about you, then,” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows in question. “Do I have the equipment for vodka-soaked tampons?”

He chuckles. “If you do, I doubt it’s my business.”

“It’s not,” I agree, defensively. I wonder if I should say anything, but my genitals really aren’t his business, and he obviously didn’t mean for it to sound like that. So, I decide to answer his question. “I’m getting married in two weeks.” I don’t want to think about the conference or the paper I can’t revise.

“Really? Tell me about it.”

“Well, Christian – that’s my fiancé – he wanted a big wedding, so we’ve rented this estate. And all our family and friends are coming,” I say excitedly. I’ve been trying to talk myself into that. I just wanted a small ceremony with my parents and his close family. But he has this thing with his brother where they keep having to one-up each other and Christian’s brother had a pretty big wedding. Personally, I would have preferred something smaller but such is love. I want to give Christian everything he wants.

Leo doesn’t seem to notice how fake my enthusiasm is. “Tell me about Christian,” he says with a smile.

It’s my favourite topic, so, I do. “He’s so beautiful, it can drive you nuts.” My friend Kieran likes to point out that I always go for the pretty ones, but it’s not just that. Like honestly, the face and body of a Greek marble statue. It’s obviously not his only quality and I’m marrying him for a lot of reasons, but I really almost gasped loudly when I first saw him. “He’s also kind. He works as an investment banker, so makes a lot of money, but he donates a lot, and throws all these fundraisers. He’s also always reading. He’s so smart.”

Leo gives me this kind smile as if he’s really happy for me. “Tell me how you met,” he says.

“Well, I research wealth and wealth distribution, and I interviewed him for a project. Afterwards, he asked me out. At first, I was concerned about ethics, so I completed the research first. Thankfully, that was only a couple of weeks. I’ve never written an article that fast,” I laugh.

“Couldn’t you have just not used his interview,” Leo asks, laughing. He’s relishing his chips, his face relaxing in enjoyment every time he takes a bite.

I chuckle, “he asked me to. He wanted to see himself quoted.” Wait – that sounds vain. “I mean, it was an academic article, there’s an audience of maybe 50 people. But he wanted me to write down his name. It was like we did something together.”

He looks confused. “Only you didn’t. You did it.”

He’s not the first to point it out. Kieran thinks it means Christian is selfish. I roll my eyes. “Well, yes, but he likes that our names were on the same page.” They weren’t really. The journal only has the author name on the first page. But he still was oddly proud when it finally came out after months of peer review and revisions. By that time, we were already a couple. Already engaged, actually. He kept saying we made something together.

“How long have you been together,” he wants to know.

“A little more than a year,” I answer.

“That’s not long. How old are you,” he asks.

“27.”

He shrugs. “I guess that’s normal. But what’s the hurry?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just can’t wait to get started, you know?”

“Get started with what,” he asks, looking baffled.

“Get started with life. You know, get married, adopt a kid or two. Get a dog. Buy a house,” I trail off.

“None of these things require marriage,” he points out, eyeing me critically.

“But what if I want to be married for that,” I say. I’ve had plenty of debates with feminist scholars about the topic. People often finish their PhDs around 30, so academics tend to get married late. I know all the criticisms of marriage as an institution. But I still want to be married, okay?

“Sorry,” he says, almost as if he’s trying to shake himself out of his judgemental mode. “Of course, you should get married if you want. I guess I just never imagined myself getting married.”

“How old are you,” I ask. He seems quite young.

“23,” he says.

“That’s still quite young.”

He snorts out a laugh. “I’m four years younger than you. And I’m a dancer. We grow up young and have short careers. And we tend to be the obedient, rule-following sort. It changes timelines. Many dancers get married young. I just never imagined that as something I want for myself.” Then he purses his lips. “That’s not fair. When you go to ballet school, it’s like that. Only that there are plenty of dance forms that are more creative. And easier on the joints,” he says with a smile around his lips.

“So, there’s a proper divide between ballet and the modern dance hippies,” I laugh.

“If you want to put it like that,” he smiles. “But it’s more the structures and institutions that make it like that. You can’t blame it all on some 18-year-old prima ballerina who has never done anything but dance.”

“I’m a sociologist,” I shrug. “I know all about structures and institutions.”

“Sorry, I still don’t quite get your life. You’re 27. You have a doctorate. You’re getting married in two weeks. You’re not even 30 and have accomplished enough for a lifetime. What is it that you want to start?”

“You make it sound so impressive. I’ve just always been younger that everyone else. At school, in my undergrad, postgrad, PhD,” I trail off. I have skipped a couple of grades in school. But it’s not like my age matters at this point.

“It is impressive,” he looks at me warily.

 “I just want a family. Children,” I explain. Because, seriously, what am I working for?

 “Are you close with your parents,” he asks, sucking ketchup from this finger.

I really don’t want to talk about my parents, so I switch the topic back to him.  “So, if you’re quitting dancing, what’s next.”

“No idea. I just know there’s no more dancing. Haven’t really thought about what’s next.”

It strikes me as callous to give up on a career without having the next one sorted. But I get that other people are less careful than me. And Leo strikes me as one of them.

[juliematos-blog]

What Makes an Expert in the Age of Social Media?

By Julie Matos

We’ve all had that conversation should we trust the "experts" we see on social media? With influencers and professionals vying for our attention, what truly defines an expert in today’s world?

A recent chat with my friend made me think about why she buys from influencers. They may not always have years of experience, but their authenticity and connection with their audience make them a trusted source. So, what does it mean to be an expert now, and how has social media changed that?

The New Definition of Expertise

In the past, expertise was about experience, credentials, and recognition. But in the age of social media, those things don’t always matter as much. It’s more about trust, authenticity, and the ability to connect with people on a personal level.

Authenticity Over Credentials

Today, it’s less about your degrees or formal experience and more about how genuine and relatable you are. People want to connect with real, transparent voices. Whether it’s a designer sharing the behind-the-scenes of their craft or an influencer showing how they style their pieces, authenticity holds more weight than ever before.

Niche Knowledge Still Reigns

Specialization is key. While influencers might be great at curating content or building a following, professionals who’ve spent years honing their craft still have deep, niche expertise that’s incredibly valuable. And even if they don’t have thousands of followers, they’re respected for their work and knowledge.

Take Re/Make, for example. The organization is filled with experts on sustainable fashion researchers, garment workers, and ethical fashion advocates who have spent years in the industry fighting for transparency. Their work has led to tangible changes in how brands approach sustainability, even without influencer-level followings. Yet, on social media, we often see brands pushing "sustainable" products through influencers who may not have the same level of deep industry knowledge. So, who should we trust? The people with decades of expertise or those who are just really good at selling an idea?

Engagement Over Follower Count

Let’s face it numbers don’t always tell the full story. It’s not just about how many followers you have; it’s about how you engage and add value to your community. Influencers may have huge numbers, but experts with fewer followers often make a more meaningful impact because their message resonates with a dedicated audience.

Consistency is Key

An expert isn’t just someone who knows their stuff they’re consistent in sharing that knowledge. It’s not about viral posts, but about building a reputation over time. Whether it’s through blogs, podcasts, or small-scale social media posts, the real experts are constantly sharing their insights and staying current.

The Influence of Influencers

So, why do people like my friend trust influencers for buying decisions?

Relatable – They feel a personal connection. Influencers share their authentic experiences, making it easy for followers to see themselves in those recommendations.

Trust – The constant, consistent presence of influencers builds trust. It’s not just about selling something it’s about genuinely connecting with an audience.

Convenience – Social media makes it easy to shop and get instant feedback. When you see someone you trust share something they love, it feels like a recommendation you can count on.

Experience vs. Social Media Presence

The real disconnect often lies in the difference between having experience and building a social media presence. There are pros with decades of knowledge who might not have a massive online following, but their expertise is top-notch. On the other hand, influencers might be great at building a community but may not have the technical experience that some seasoned professionals bring.

What Does This Mean for You?

Whether you’re a seasoned professional or a social media star, the key to true influence is building trust. It’s about being consistent, authentic, and genuinely offering value to your audience. For brands and individuals, understanding that expertise doesn’t always come with a large following is crucial.

The experts who matter most are the ones who connect with people and share knowledge regardless of follower count.

So, what do you think? How do you define expertise today?

Let’s talk about it.